


To Be Loved

by SatanIsALibra



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:42:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22108048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SatanIsALibra/pseuds/SatanIsALibra
Summary: A short story about how far one monster would go for a chance to be like everyone else.This one’s sad, guys. Lemon, but not gratuitous. Also, tagged as non-con to be safe. DEFINITELY dubious consent, you’ll understand why by the end.
Kudos: 6





	To Be Loved

When he opened the door, her joyful face was the first thing he saw. So full her heart was to finally be reunited with him that she paid no mind to the filth of a thousand lands he had tracked in from the outside world, nor the rainwater dripping from his dark hair to form silver dollar puddles upon the mahogany floorboards. 

Hazel eyes looked up longingly into his own, a portrait of relief and adoration. She bowed her head until her face was hidden, pressed against his chest between hands that fisted in his shirt. Everything about her was warm. All that she was, was beautiful to him.

“I’ve missed you...I was so worried.”

He smiled softly, eyes closing. 

“I know.”

Placing two hands on her shoulders, he eased her back from him. Her eyes trailed up to his, alight and inviting, and for a moment, all he could do was look at her. 

His heart swelled. His gaze drifted lazily down to her soft lips, head dipping to follow, and he kissed her slowly, more sensually than he had done anything in his entire life. His hands came up to cradle her angelic face and she melted further into him, pulling the tension from his body with the touch of her lips alone. All cares and reservations left him then, and the world was still. He knew then that this was peace.

Moaning, he felt her lips pull taut with amusement and she laughed.

“Careful,” she spoke, and motioned with a nod of her head to a closed door somewhere to the right of them. 

“The children are sleeping.”

He blinked, and for a moment he was still. Then, a quiet puff of a laugh escaped him. He spoke softly. 

“Right. I’m sorry.”

Again, she smiled. He loved her smile. But then her eyes fell to look just to the side of him towards a dinner table, and her expression became subdued.

“You must be so hungry. I’m sorry I don’t have anything prepared for you, I wasn’t expecting you back so soon. Supper was done a few hours ago, but I can make you something if you’d like.”

He shushed her, gently shaking his head.

“It’s all right, don’t worry about me. I’ve had plenty to eat over the last few weeks, I promise.”

And then he was looking at her, something playful sparking in his gaze. 

“Besides, the only thing I’m hungry for is you.”

He nuzzled her neck. She laughed deep in her throat, and it was messy and lovely. 

And real.

“Well then,” and with that, she captivated him once more with one of her kisses. She pushed him back and down the hall, and he put a hand out behind him to turn the knob of the door they had come to stand in front of. She laughed against his mouth again, the vibration on his lips enticing him.

“That’s the bathroom, silly.”

He laughed again. 

“Right...”

Their kiss was reignited as they tangled their way down the remainder of the corridor. She turned so that she could do the honors of fumbling for the knob this time, the door swaying open with a twist. 

His hands were on her now, canvassing every conceivable inch of her as he pushed her back. Back and back a bit further, until the rear of her legs caught the edge of the bed and she fell without hesitation, the same way she had fallen for him when they were teens. 

She was situated between the soft down of the pillows and his body now, and he kissed her passionately, desperately, as if at any moment, he would be ripped from her. As if he would never feel the touch of her again.

She reciprocated in earnest, graceful fingers tangling in shaggy dark locks, still dripping raindrops onto her cheeks. 

Somewhere between deep rumbles of relentless need and hushed sighs of want and surrender, the two tangled lovers became one, having one another as if they had been swept away into the depths of reckless, youthful ecstasy for the first time all over again. 

Guarded and uncertain gestures soon became firm and unbridled, unified in their tenacity and synchronicity, and he moved to the rhythm of his pulsing desire. 

Within all of a lifetime, he shattered, unable to withhold himself any longer. He gripped her firmly, frantically, until he was spent, in an act that could almost be construed as fear. Fear that the sensation of being present within her, with her, would end, or the feeling of her slipping away, the world was left to wonder.

“Please,” she pleaded, enslaved to the primal urge of fulfillment, “I’m so close...please...”

...and he could not deny her. He moved. Thrice, and two times more, and she was freed. 

He watched her convulse, her body arching involuntarily, as if her very spirit pulled from her to grasp at higher planes than those to which she belonged. Her expression was one of wanton completion, eyes slit and mouth agape, and his eyes burned watching her. Inside, he beamed; for he had given it to her.

She descended much as a dove in flight, blissful wings spread and carrying her tenderly back down into her lover’s embrace. They held each other there, serenity no longer a fleeting sensation, but a place that they had created within one another to revisit again and again. Incredulously, he pondered if such divinity were possible within the confines of this world, and for a moment, he wondered if he was still alive. 

He looked down at her, brushing a stray tendril of dark hair away from her face, and the placidity smoothed over her features was all the confirmation of life that he needed. Her face was empty, free of all of the fret and worry she had carried. Here, between sleep and awake, she was beautifully blank, and he never imagined he would be blessed with such truth. 

“Yūto,” she breathed, and there was love in it, perfectly content in every conceivable manner a word could be spoken.

He would’ve done the same, affectionately articulated her own name back to her in solidarity. 

But he did not know it.

Just as the world had grown silent and dreams began to dance behind his eyes, he remembered who he was. He got up, dressing and gathering his things, making to leave when she stirred. 

“Where are you going?”

Back facing her, he turned partly, his face betraying only a sliver of the sadness he felt. Hidden by the dark, she did not see it.

“I’m going for a bit of fresh air.”

She giggled sleepily.

“Hurry back. It’s cold here without you lying next to me.”

He said nothing as he closed the door behind himself.

Using recent memory to navigate back to the front door, he exited and stepped out onto the street before stealing away into the adjacent alleyway and jumping onto the roof.

Only when he was certain that the shadows around him were sufficient enough to cloak his presence, Kisame dropped the transformation jutsu he had been upholding since he arrived at the house.

Propped against the rough of a wall and covertly concealed by darkness, he lived in a dream; unable to stay, unable to leave, unable to will his body to move.

He lingered there in complete silence for another hour until he sensed the squad of shinobi approaching, suppressing his chakra further to avoid detection. Without a sound, he dropped back down into the alley below.

They were around the corner, just out of his field of vision, and he could hear one of them rapping on the door. Body pressed flush to the cold of the alley wall behind him, his spirit plummeted ever downward with each knock. 

His eye twitched at the shriek of the hinges as she opened it. The conversation echoed in his ears from afar. 

“Mrs. Hironaka?”

“Yes? What’s this about?”

“Ma’am...I apologize for calling on you so late.”

His eyes squeezed closed. He could barely stand.

“...I’m afraid...your husband, Hironaka Yūto...was killed.”

Everything was still, and he could hear only his own heart. It skipped, the missing beat lost to the deathly quiet that swept over her, over them all.

He heard her sputter as she tried to make sense of things.

“I...but he was...I just saw him...?”

”Ma’am?,” the shinobi questioned.

”He was just here an hour ago. I must’ve fallen asleep...”

There was silence before the man spoke again.

”I’m afraid that’s not possible. Hironaka-san’s remains were recovered roughly a day ago on the outskirts of a neighboring village.”

Another pause.

”We were able to bring you this...”

The quiet ensued a moment longer until it was shattered by the sound of a headband clanking to the ground below.

The disruption was a reckoning, destroying the stillness of the air around him, and he was suddenly awash in a wave of damning clarity.

In the instant it took for him to register what he had done, so too had it dawned upon her, and all semblance of solitude they may have known was obliterated.

Her wails split the night in two, stampeding around the corner of the grime coated alley like a gaggle of spooked horses, yanking at his gut as if he were surely being dragged to his death behind them. Wails of sorrow, wails of confusion, wails of realization.

He lurched into himself, his broad and looming figure shrinking a full foot at least. His dry throat tightened, his breathing coming in uncoordinated and shallow puffs, and he was aware of the exact moment his vision became distorted by the tears he could not contain.

And then, for the first time since his days of naïveté and adolescence, he wept. A sniveling, puerile, and unbecoming display that would have surely shamed him had his comrades bore witness. 

He wept for the woman, whose life he had destroyed, and whose lover had been torn asunder by his own hand two evenings prior. The woman he had caressed, had cherished, had adored as her own husband had. 

He wept for himself, a deplorable and abominable mockery of the human condition; a beast that would never truly understand the comfort, the tranquil simplicity of being loved. 

Being loved for himself. 

But most of all, he wept for the world; for it was an unforgiving and treacherous domain...that, by his very nature, would never allow him to exist contentedly or equitably within it.

He knew he had to leave this place, this haven turned hellscape where he had suddenly become so unwelcome, so himself. They would take a report from her, come to know all of the heinous details of his offenses, and begin searching for him soon.

The darkness of the night beckoned to him with the promise of anonymity and unprejudiced forgiveness, and he fled into it without reservation; for within the long shadow of loneliness, separated from others, and from a love he so desperately longed to possess, was the only semblance of contentment he would ever know.

**Author's Note:**

> *Edited to add plot because loopholes, haha. Writing when you’re tired makes your mind do weird stuff.
> 
> This one hurt my heart to write. The premise has been swimming through my brain for some time now, so I finally wrote it. I know a thing or two about loneliness, but not like our dude Kisame. I imagine looking so different and being shunned would make for a very lonely life. For God’s sake, somebody hug this guy


End file.
